


Consummation

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, First Time, M/M, PWP, Self-Lubrication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having been married for the unity of dwarves and elves, Kíli and Thranduil enjoy their first time together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consummation

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fic for anon’s “Kili and Thranduil are married out of political convenience. On the Wedding Night, Thranduil takes Kili's virginity. But, because of Kili's inexperience and because he doesn't know Thranduil that well, all Kili can do is lay there, writhing and moaning as Thranduil fucks him. Afterwards, Kili feels ashamed that he didn't do more to get Thranduil off and apologizes for not being that good. Thranduil tells him that he was perfect” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24385653#t24385653).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The walk from the ceremony room to Thranduil’s chambers is long, but not so long as it would’ve been had Thorin had his way. He argued first for the celebration to be held in Erebor, though, of course, that would mean opening the vast halls to the elves. Thranduil wanted it in his own home, and Kíli mostly just wanted to get it over with, so he agreed to stand in a Mirkwood tower, reciting vows in a language he didn’t fully understand, and made to kneel for a strange, too natural crown that still feels like it’s caught in his hair. He would’ve preferred something gold, made of hard metal and weight, but the elves make things for beauty. The crown that’s tucked behind his ears is weaved from branches and strings of shimmering crystals: a smaller version of his husband’s.

Thinking of Thranduil as his _husband_ still makes him shiver. It isn’t so unpleasant, not as much as he might’ve thought, but it is new and bizarre. He spent his life hearing of Elven deceit, and he knows Thorin still has such loathing for Thranduil, even if this union does make sense. It secures their lands together, offers dual protection to their people, and with all the horrors of spiders and orcs and dragons that Kíli’s seen, he knows how important that joint defense could be. And Thranduil is not a bad king, and Kíli has never hated elves as much as he maybe should’ve. 

He did, at first, wish for Fíli to be the one given away. But that was before he actually stood before the Elven king, spoke with him and heard his rich voice, heard his words, and was, at the end of it, chosen by Thranduil himself. 

He felt honoured, in a way. He still does. At least now he won’t have to hide his predilection for the fairer species, and his fellow dwarves can’t blame him for indulging in his wants. Though he keeps his eyes mostly down, following through the grand corridors of Thranduil’s home, he can’t help the occasional sideward glance at his husband’s stunning figure, wrapped in silver-white robes with gems shimmering for trim. He looks like a living star, extraordinarily beautiful. There’s no one in Middle Earth with a spouse so magnificent, and it’s easy under that art for Kíli’s other worries to all trickle away. 

He knows when they’ve reached the king’s quarters. Thranduil’s steps slow outside tall doors, maybe five times Kíli’s height, engraved with intricate curves to depict a massive tree. Thranduil’s fingers twist around the handle, and he opens into an elegant, circular room carved out of the wood. It’s still a strange world to Kíli, who’s used to only stone, but he sweeps inside when Thranduil bows, and he stands hesitantly a few paces in, taking in the scenery.

Through an array of branches, windows are carved into the ceiling to let the moonlight in, and it shines off every surface in little puffs of white-blue glows. The furniture is all elegant and matching, like it was carved from the same tree but painted and embedded with jewels. Kíli tries to look everywhere at once, but he can’t help but be drawn to the large, four-poster bed along the far wall. It’s rich, mahogany sheets almost call to Kíli, and all he can think is how _comfortable_ it must be, after so long spent on the road and the ancient, decrepit cots of a still-ravaged Erebor. Everything he’s seen tonight has been decked in splendor, from the impressive banquet to the nobility of the guests to the silken white robes he was given to wear. They cling to his body with almost no weight at all, feel like a second skin, but warm and smooth, and he self-consciously plays with his sleeves again as he takes it all in, then thinks: that bed is where _Thranduil will take him._

Thranduil steps beside him, with regal posture and eyes directed elsewhere. “You may choose your own quarters tomorrow, if you wish,” Thranduil drawls in a calm, easy voice, while Kíli’s insides are still churning about. “Once you have had a chance to survey the castle and have found somewhere suitable, I will have it arranged.”

This is a confusing notion to Kíli, who isn’t so young as to not know how marriages work. For the first time since their vows, Kíli looks up at his husband’s face. He can feel his cheeks blushing all over again at the sheer sight of Thranduil’s handsome features and, of course, the uncertainty of being bound. Kíli doesn’t know Thranduil well enough at all to react comfortably, normally, and he’s acutely aware that the stability of his people rests on his shoulders; securing Erebor will be no good if dwarves can’t pass through Elven land. He asks, fidgeting lightly on the spot, “Aren’t I staying here?”

Thranduil smiles thinly. The starlight suits him well: like the first time Kíli saw him standing on the dais, he looks like some divine creature out of legend, born of beauty itself. He tells Kíli in his deep, honey-smooth voice, “I do believe in the wisdom of this marriage. ...I do not, however, have any desire to force myself upon you.”

Kíli swallows. He should be thankful, he supposes. Another man might use him for revenge on Thorin, assuming, of course, that any elf would want him at all. Kíli’s never considered himself ugly, even if he is too slight for a dwarf and can’t seem to grow his beard enough, but he’s nowhere near as attractive as Thranduil. He might as well be a pig trying to court a god; he just happens to be a well-bred, conveniently aligned pig. 

Still, Kíli’s never been one for cowardice. He licks his lips while he chooses his words, then offers, cautiously, “I was... prepared to... well...” He gestures vaguely at the bed, then breathes all at once, “share my first experience with you.” He wants to look away immediately, feeling the heat in his cheeks from his admission. He has no good reason for his lack of experience, and he doesn’t want it to turn Thranduil away, so he forces himself to look up at Thranduil’s face again, his resolve all over him. He’s been known to jump headfirst into the unknown, dangerous and exciting, but this is something different; something he’s thought about.

He was nervous when he first learned he would be given to Thranduil, yes. He had his reservations. But he still touched himself to the thought of it, and it never occurred to him that once they were joined, their wedding night might not be celebrated. However lesser Kíli is than an Elven king, that king chose to bond with him and is intelligent enough to know of dwarf traditions. There are plenty Kíli intends to indulge, like spending their first night bound together. And after that... he can muddle about different quarters later. 

For now, Thranduil’s eyes sweep over him, considering. Kíli puffs himself up, trying to look both appealing and sure of himself. When Thranduil takes too long to reply, Kíli insists, “I’d... I’d very much like to try it.” And then he flushes horribly, hating his phrasings, but there’s nothing for it, so he still stands firm. 

Finally, Thranduil’s smile returns and grows. He nods and reaches a hand down, his long fingers brushing over Kíli’s cheek, curling beneath his chin, while the thumb strokes through his stubble. Kíli’s breath hitches, and Thranduil leans in to purr, hushed and _so_ enticing, “I would like that very much as well, my new beloved. I’m pleased that you would be so inclined.” He extends forward enough to gently peck Kíli’s forehead beneath his crown, making Kíli shudder and his eyes fall closed. As Thranduil withdraws, he continues, “I will treat you well, whatever your uncle may have told you.”

Kíli tries not to think of Thorin. He doesn’t want this to be a betrayal. He’ll see Thorin again in the morning and bid him farewell, leaving the rest of the dwarves to return to Erebor and Gandalf and Bilbo to head west. Then it will just be him and his husband, and if Kíli is really going to spend the rest of his life with this man—excusing for visits to Erebor to see his brother and friends, of course—he wants to make sure they start it right. 

When he opens his eyes, Thranduil’s hand falls from his face, running down his arm to press their palms together. Thranduil’s skin is the smoothest surface Kíli’s ever felt, strikingly warm and feather-soft. Kíli lets his fingers be intertwined in Thranduil’s greater ones, and then he’s guided to the bed like wafting through a dream, their steps flowing and quiet. Thranduil brings him to the side and pauses, breaking contact. 

Then Thranduil slips his fingers into his collar, and he peels the fabric away like cream. The seams just flow apart, only bare skin beneath. Thranduil brings his robes open until they’re stretched across his broad shoulders and drift down his biceps. His hairless chest, trim and lightly dusted with the brush of muscles, is exposed under Kíli’s greedy gaze. He barely notices the robes hit the floor, his eyes falling, instead, to the hem around Thranduil’s thin hips. His pants are made of the same material as his robes, and Thranduil’s hands drift easily to the corseted tie up the front. Kíli’s breath holds—he can only imagine what’s underneath. Thranduil tugs the bow loose, and he bends to draw the pants down his legs, his long, sleek hair slipping over his shoulders. Kíli wants to reach out and touch it—has wanted that since their first meeting—but he still doesn’t dare. He waits, instead, stock still, while Thranduil straightens back, fully nude.

Thranduil tilts his chin up, an easy confidence on his face, and he gracefully opens his arms to bid, “This is the body of your new husband, Kíli, prince of Erebor. From this night forward, it is yours to see as you wish.”

Kíli nods without thinking. The elves are as possessive as dwarves, and their marriage laws are much the same. It strikes Kíli, suddenly and wondrously, that Thranduil _does_ belong to him, just as much as he belongs to Thranduil. When he was first presented with the idea, him a young prince and Thranduil an established king, he couldn’t help but think of himself as just a fresh concubine for some thriving Elven harem. But it isn’t that at all. They’re _equals_ , and the more Kíli devours the sight of his new husband, the more he doesn’t even know what to do with such loveliness. Every part of Thranduil’s body is like something out of Kíli’s wet dreams—and the dirty forbidden ones he would never say to another dwarf, at that. His eyes linger the most between Thranduil’s legs, and even though he knows he’s staring, he can’t help but ogle the luscious curve of Thranduil’s long, thick cock, pale as the rest of him but pink around the head. It reaches, semi-hard, into the air, leaving room to view the tight, heavy balls that lie beneath. Kíli licks his lips again, swallowing consciously. 

Thranduil takes a step forward, his hands lifting to Kíli’s own collar. His robes are smaller but not dissimilar, and Thranduil waits until Kíli nods to part them. Kíli can do nothing but stand and repress his shivers as Thranduil draws the fabric off his body, leaving him just as bare. He’s hyper-conscious of how much thicker he is, of the dark hair that lines his chest and lightly grows down his arms and legs, particularly thick below his stomach, reaching into the hem of his pants. Thorin catches the tie in his hands, and he says simply, “We will stop anytime you wish.” Kíli nods again, though he knows that won’t be happening. He’s nervous, yes, but the excitement outweighs any trepidation, and the longer they wait the harder he gets. It’s so easy to grow stiff beneath Thranduil’s hungry gaze, and as he realizes that there is genuine _want_ there, his own desire increases. He lets Thranduil unlace his pants and strip him down, until he’s standing in a puddle of clothes and trying desperately not to look down at his own eager cock. 

Thranduil glances at it, smiles so wide that it borders on a smirk, and announces, “You have a very attractive body, Kíli.” His eyes flicker up to Kíli’s face, and he muses, “I chose well.” Even naked, Kíli feels like he’s burning up. He means to return the compliment but doesn’t. He’s still a dwarf with an elf that held him prisoner, though he does plan to get over that.

Next to go are the crowns. Thranduil removes his own with a practiced air, placing it around Kíli on the small stand beside the bed. Kíli doesn’t know if he should remove his own, but in his indecision, Thranduil does it for him, lifting it from his head and carefully removing the strands of hair it clings to. It’s placed next to Thranduil’s, the two of them touching in the middle: a pretty pair. When Kíli looks at them, he can see the symbolism of their two kingdoms, united in this offering of peace, and he thinks, _knows_ , that he’s glad he’s in this place instead of Thorin or Fíli. 

He looks back at Thranduil, whose arm is reached out to the bed. Kíli sucks in a breath and nods. He turns to climb onto it, blushing worse at the thought of Thranduil examining his rear, and he quickly lays down, flat in the middle of the mattress with his head in the plush pillow. His cock juts straight up into the air, his limps spread out and trying to be loose but unintentionally very tense. He wants this, he knows. Very badly. But it’s still a terrifying prospect, especially with how big the elf king is, how long his cock appears and how experienced he must be. Kíli doesn’t want to disappoint, but he already doesn’t know what to do. 

He watches Thranduil climb up beside him, stalking on all fours like an elegant creature of prey. He crawls to the end of the bed, settling down between Kíli’s legs, which Kíli spreads mostly on instinct. Thranduil slips right up to him and runs two hands over his thighs, fingers spread, just feeling. The touch is almost dizzying, so intimate as it is, even though they’ve barely started. It’s enough to give Kíli a start—he’s never been touched that way. But it feels nice.

When Thranduil is finished stroking Kíli’s tender skin, he runs his grip below Kíli’s knees and lifts them up, placing Kíli’s legs over his own. Kíli tries to watch every part of it, memorizing the appreciative look on Thranduil’s features and the touch of his hands, especially the whisper of the ends of his hair brushing over Kíli’s belly. But most of all, he’s aware of Thranduil’s cock nestled right between his legs, so very close to his own. He’s pleased that Thranduil’s hard from watching him, maybe even proud, though he knows the difficult part is yet to come. He knows what sex is like, of course, even though he’s never had it—he’s traveled with a pack of twelve horny men—excluding, of course, the oh-so-proper Mr. Bilbo—and he’s heard all the stories. He knows the mechanics and that it isn’t supposed to hurt, but he also knows that it can if one isn’t careful or the receiver isn’t as comfortable as they should be.

Kíli, fortunately, is _very_ comfortable. He’s intensely interested, has been all day, this bed is like a cloud, and though his nerves are eating at him, so is the exhilaration of plunging into pleasure. This is his _husband_ , he repeats in his head over and over again, and he wants to feel that husband inside of him, wants to finally feel what it’s like to bed an _elf_ , and the king of them, at that. He wants to reach out to Thranduil and hold on, but his arms still aren’t working. 

Thranduil doesn’t seem to mind. He comes to lean over Kíli’s body all the same, his long hair skimming up Kíli’s chest, his face hovering over Kíli’s, and he dips to press a firm kiss to Kíli’s forehead. A quiet keening noise escapes Kíli’s lips, just as another kiss is placed against his brow. The next is at the side of his nose, and then his cheek. 

Then Thranduil’s lips are against his own, light and soft and a little moist. Kíli purses his mouth but doesn’t know what more to do, and he’s grateful when Thranduil presses harder, taking control. It’s a chaste but _powerful_ kiss that forces Kíli to close his eyes and tilt his face, his body unwittingly pressing back. Thranduil’s lips feel oddly _right_ against his own. Kíli tries to take in their shape and feel, but he’s mostly just given the thrill of their heat and pressure. 

When Thranduil pulls back, Kíli doesn’t want him to go. But it’s only a second before Thranduil’s pecking his chin, then over his neck, then into the dip of his collarbone. Kíli’s tongue escapes his mouth to lick at his lips and collect the lingering taste: berries and expensive wine.

The kisses trail down Kíli’s body, clean and close together but each sincere, leaving Kíli’s skin to tingle in their wake. He feels vaguely like he’s being captured under some spell, but it’s worth it. Through his own dilating pupils, he watches Thranduil kiss him again and again, right down to the coarse hair between his legs. Lingering there, Thranduil breathes in, clearly inhaling Kíli’s scent, while Kíli’s cock presses along the arch of Thranduil’s throat. It’s the most erotic sight Kíli’s ever seen, coupled with one of the more erotic feelings. He’s sure it’s only about to get better. Thranduil’s musk is faint but almost floral, thick and like some ethereal aphrodisiac. It permeates the room whenever Kíli strains to smell it. Thranduil starts laving little licks and nips along Kíli’s lips while his hands run back up Kíli’s thighs, his fingers coming back behind Kíli’s balls. Kíli knows his own cock is much stouter than Thranduil’s, but then, of course, he is a dwarf, and his might also be a little thicker. It’s darker, more rugged with less aesthetic veins and less even skin. But Thranduil doesn’t seem to mind his crotch at all, because Kíli is showered in kiss after kiss and soothing, appreciative touches. 

As Thranduil’s fingers probe between Kíli’s cheeks, Kíli has to wonder if Thranduil knows of Dwarven biology, and the few areas where they, apparently, differ from humans and elves. Only a short moment after this thought, Thranduil says quietly, “I have been looking forward to a certain fabled aspect of dwarves.” When his fingertips find Kíli’s waiting hole, Kíli already knows that it’s started to stretch and grow wet. He finds Thranduil far too attractive for his body to not respond, and he clenches just to check, realizing as he does so just _how_ wet he is. He’s practically dripping, and he feels a rush of embarrassment at the thought of staining Thranduil’s nice sheets, but Thranduil only chuckles in amusement, murmuring, “ _Yes_... there we are.” His gaze lifts to Kíli’s face when he asks, “I assume this means you are eager for me?”

Kíli, once again, can’t seem to find his voice, and only nods too vigorously. It will take some time, he supposes, before he’s able to beg an elf for anything. But he’s now certain it will happen eventually. Soon or later, he’ll plead for Thranduil’s body with ease, professing his own want, all Thorin’s borrowed pride aside. For now, Kíli can’t seem to admit how good this all feels, and only spreads his legs wider as Thranduil’s fingers probe at him. They start on the outside, the smooth tips teasing around the brim of his hole, but then one pops inside, and Kíli gasps. It’s sucked into him, and Thranduil draws it slowly in and out, crooking a little bit to tease at his walls. It feels odd, in a way, but the sight of Thranduil himself and the feeling off the other fingers petting his ass keeps it sensual. Before long, Thranduil has managed to push inside down to the knuckle, filling Kíli with only the one long, smooth digit, and it strokes at him and makes him shiver, makes him arc off the bed and _moan_. 

Thranduil presses a hard kiss into his chest, pushing him back down, and adds a second finger. It eases through the growing wetness and the way Kíli’s channel naturally prepares itself, stretching open for his bonded mate. Thranduil’s fingers only help the process along, and when two are inside, they start to scissor him wider. There is no pain at all, only fleeting touches that make Kíli contract and want more. Yet Thranduil only continues on with the fingers, until Kíli’s hips are trembling and he’s sure that he’ll come if this goes on much longer, so he opens his mouth and finally breathes, “My Lord...”

“I’m pleased you would submit to my rule,” Thranduil replies, his crystalline eyes still fixated on Kíli’s puckered entrance, “but I would have my husband call me by my name.”

So Kíli, having already said it at the ceremony, mumbles, “ _Thranduil_.” It’s still odd on his tongue, like most Elven things, but this is a good place to start. Thranduil obliges, seeming to know the rest, and pulls his fingers from Kíli’s body, leaving his hole too wide and empty. 

His legs squirm for a moment while Thranduil stretches up, and Kíli, knowing what’s about to come, tries to sit up on his elbows to watch. Thranduil’s handsome cock presses between his legs, the bulbous head nestling against his entrance. The touch alone makes him clench the sheets in his fist, the anticipation bubbling hotter. He tells himself to relax but only feels numb with his overwhelming _want_ , so he just surrenders to the feeling. 

Thranduil purrs, “Ready?”

Kíli nods his head. He’s been ready for ages.

Thranduil rolls his hips only slightly, the tip pushes past Kíli’s brim, and Kíli collapses against the pillow immediately, elbows giving way. It’s only that little, tiny bit, but it’s _Thranduil’s cock inside him_ , and all Kíli can do is stare, wide-eyed, at the ceiling. A little bit more comes in, a little bit more, sliding out then pushing further in, slow and careful. There isn’t so much as a tiny sting; Kíli’s body is _hungry_ for it, and his hole greedily sucks at Thranduil’s shaft, his walls dripping wet and his hips having to fight not to squirm, not to buck up and take more than he’s given. Thranduil feeds him one small morsel at a time, until finally, _finally_ , he’s all the way inside. He doesn’t push anymore, just stays where he is, and Kíli can feel Thranduil’s balls against his ass, his thighs shaking over Thranduil’s knees. He looks down at his body, though he can’t see the full brunt of Thranduil’s cock buried in his walls. 

Thranduil comes down to lie atop him, on all fours. When Thranduil kisses his lips, even as gentle as it is, Kíli knows he won’t last very long at all. He’s achingly hard, feeling deliciously full, and Thranduil’s mouth against his own is too much to take. 

Then Thranduil rolls his hips and Kíli gasps. It happens again at a different angle, then another, and on the fourth, Kíli cries out, head tossing back, because that’s it, right _there_ : Thranduil’s hit something that’s exploded pleasure in him. Thranduil starts to slide out, only to shove right back into that same place. The second it’s hit, Kíli’s screaming anew. So Thranduil thrusts into it again and again, pulling almost all the way out before burying inside Kíli’s body, while Kíli’s channel nearly convulses in delight, the bliss ricocheting up his body to black out his mind and force a litany of gasps and moans and shrieks from his lips. He whimpers in between, jostled lightly up and down the bed, shoved hard into the sheets with the downward thrusts, like Thranduil is trying to dig him into place. The noise of it is surprisingly loud, lewd, wet slapping sounds, completely washing out the sound of Thranduil’s even breath and the blood pounding in Kíli’s ears, but not his heady cries.

He still wants to hold onto Thranduil but still can’t, his body completely out of his control, and he realizes belatedly that his hips are shaking almost violently. He has nothing to do with it and he can’t stop it, and that only adds to his mixture of fright and wonderment. It feels so, _so_ good to be _taken_ , filled by his husband’s glorious cock again and again, but he’s also horribly aware that he’s doing _nothing_ back, nothing to earn his pleasure; he’s lying still like a broken doll, except that he’s _writhing_ in delight, being ravished and given bliss itself. He feels useless and ashamed but excruciatingly _rapturous_ , and Thranduil makes it worse by kissing him, again and again, all over his face. 

When Thranduil’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to bear a full kiss. Thranduil’s tongue plunges into his open mouth anyway, and Kíli presses back: the one thing he can return. He kisses Thranduil with messy, open-close movements and a too-fervent tongue and dripping lips, completely unsure of what to do but too consumed to stop. His instincts take over, while Thranduil does all the real work of controlling the litany of kisses and the rhythm of their hips. 

Then Thranduil’s fingers wrap around Kíli’s cock, sandwiched between their bodies, and Kíli thinks he’ll go insane from the ecstasy itself. Thranduil pumps him, once, twice, and on the third thrust, Kíli screams, disgracefully fast, his whole body suddenly jerking up into Thranduil’s. He wants to touch Thranduil more, feel him _everywhere_ , and then Kíli bursts, his mind going blank and his cock spurting his release right into Thranduil’s hand. An overwhelming heat consumes him, claws up from his insides to burn along his flesh, while his hips mindlessly thrust into Thranduil’s hand for the rest. He splatters load after load across their stomachs, easily the most he’s ever come, a ridiculously large mess that came far too fast despite none of Kíli’s efforts, and for one glorious moment, he doesn’t care, because Thranduil’s tongue is in his mouth and that’s all that matters. 

And then, slowly, the heat starts to ebb away. He runs out of seed to spill, and his hips, still wracked here and there with jerky movements, putter to an end. He’s panting very hard. 

And he’s burning with humiliation. 

He expects and hopes for Thranduil to keep going, milk his own release out of Kíli’s squirming, inadequate body, but Thranduil breaks their kiss, the slapping skin-on-skin noises fading out, and gently pulls out of him. There’s a wet squelching sound that follows, and Kíli clenches his hole, feeling suddenly empty. He’s gaping open and leaking his own juices, with the stench of his own musk in the air and Thranduil still very much aroused. 

Thranduil just straddles Kíli’s chest, his fingers wrapping around his own shaft. He strokes himself slowly, luxuriously, with only a few skilled touches, his own seed is dripping out and onto Kíli’s without Kíli ever having to do a thing.

Which makes him feel terrible, or at least, as terrible as he can feel in the haze of the lingering ecstasy that still fogs his brain. That felt absolutely amazing, and even though it didn’t last long, Kíli feels almost exhausted and completely satiated. He can only hope that his energy will come back soon and he’ll be able to try again, and, hopefully, be satisfactory. He might have to swallow his pride and asks for lessons, for help, but he’s determined he won’t be so... useless... again. 

Thranduil’s beautiful when he comes. He always is, but there’s a special intimacy to seeing him overcome by pleasure, and the way his face contorts is more lovely than even the Arkenstone, than anything Kíli’s ever seen. Even as the pleasure seeps away, Thranduil looks happy and relaxed, satiated despite Kíli’s failure, and he dips in for another kiss to Kíli’s cheek, another hand running down the other side to pet through his stubble. Kíli squirms below his husband and murmurs, “Sorry.”

Thranduil pulls away. He sits up very suddenly, looking down with confusion in his eyes. He asks only, “For what?”

Kíli’s face screws up. He doesn’t like being made fun of, though Thranduil looks genuine, even as he rises and climbs off of Kíli’s body, coming, instead, to sit beside him on the mattress. Their combined seed glistens along his stomach, his body otherwise as flawless as ever. Somehow, Kíli can tell his sincerity, so Kíli dazedly explains, “For being... no good.” His cheeks are burning, but he should be used to that by now. “I came right away, and I didn’t even touch you.” Though he wanted to. 

Thranduil only smiles. It’s a lazy, languid thing that makes Kíli feel good to see, even if he doesn’t understand it. Thranduil places a soothing hand on Kíli’s arm and says, “You are young. And it was your first. I took it as an honour, and...” here he pauses to lean down, pressing another chaste kiss to Kíli’s lips, purring quieter against them, “I found it very enjoyable.”

Kíli, still fighting the urge to pout, can only ask, “Really?”

“I do not intend to begin our marriage with lies, my Kíli. I promise you that I don’t mind having your body all under my command, though I would hope that, eventually, you would find pleasure in touching me as well.” Kíli nods harder than he means to. He definitely will. Next time, he’ll hold on tight and not let go.

Kíli means to say he’s glad, but somehow blurts, “I could maybe go again in a bit.” Then he shuts his mouth, while Thranduil laughs and kisses him again. 

“In a bit,” Thranduil concedes, “but for now, let us talk and learn of each other a little more. Shall we lie here or enjoy a bath?”

Kíli was going to lie here all night, heavy and spent as he is, but the thought of seeing Thranduil dripping wet brings a spark back to his limbs. He says, “Bath,” even though he’s not sure he can move just yet. 

He doesn’t have to. Thranduil climbs over him to slip off the bed, then scoops him up with an arm below his back and knees. Kíli, gasping in surprise, throws his arms around Thranduil’s shoulders, holding on. 

Thranduil hefts him up like he weighs nothing and smirks. “There. You’re growing more comfortable with touching me already.”

Kíli wrinkles his nose, because that isn’t exactly fair, but he is pleased. 

Then Thranduil carries him off, while Kíli sighs and leans his head on his husband’s shoulder, feeling very much like he might just be the luckiest dwarf in all the world.


End file.
